There is nothing more off-putting to me than realizing I like something I always thought I hated. This happens most often with pop music: first, the Kelly Clarkson Revelation of 2007 (“Oh god, I love “Since U Been Gone”). Then there was the Taylor Swift Reckoning of 2009 (“She wears high heels, I wear sneakers, she’s cheer captain and I’m – WHY AM I SINGING THIS?”).
Most recently, I am ashamed to say, was the Katy Perry Addiction (admitting you have a problem is the first step). “I Kissed a Girl” repulsed me – what shameless pandering! I thought. Then my boss introduced me to “Waking Up In Vegas,” and I bought it on iTunes. I tried to explain it away, arguing that it was bought with a gift card, so it doesn’t count, and besides, I only got it so that I could dance around singing into my hairbrush, like Casey on “Greek.”
And then I heard “California Gurls.”
I tried to avoid it. I did. But there’s this radio station in LA called “My FM” and it plays a mix of really great rock and really bad pop, which is the music equivalent of crack for me. They’ve taken to playing “California Gurls” every fifth song, and I am powerless to change the station. The first time I heard it, I rolled my eyes at how bad it is (“so hot we’ll melt your popsicle” – really?). Then the second time I heard it, I thought it had a kind of catchy tune. By the seventh time, I was singing along and dancing in my seat because I HAVE A KATY PERRY PROBLEM.
As much as I try to fight it, there are certain things that, in spite of myself, I really like. It tends to go against the persona I’ve created for myself, resulting in this weird self-embarrassment, where I don’t want the Cool Amanda that exists solely in my head to know about this new realization. I worry that Cool Amanda will think I’m such a sellout.
Which is all a long lead-up to a clothing confession:
A week ago, I bought a fedora. This isn’t the exact fedora, but it’s similar enough, and both are from Urban Outfitters. Mine is black with a brown band. I wore it unironically this weekend to a bar. And you know what?
It looks good. I hate that it looks good, but it makes me look spunky as hell. I put it on in the store as a joke, and my boyfriend insisted I buy it.
At the time, I wrote it off as a fluke. I have a good face for hats, buying one fedora doesn’t mean anything. Sure I got a couple necklaces to layer with it, and I tried on a pair of skinny jeans. But that doesn’t mean anything, right?
But, over the next few days (and the purchase of a vest), I began to accept what was now obvious.
I think I caught hipster.
This leads to an obvious conflict. I’ve caught hipster but I unironically love crappy pop music. In fact, I so rarely enjoy things ironically, I’m worried this newfound hipster within will have nothing but disdain for Pre-existing Amanda. I fear that the two sides will do battle and leave behind a shell of my former self; will I become an Amanda so torn between sides that I’m reduced to shopping at Hot Topic for Kelly Clarkson shirts while wearing jeggings?
I’m so afraid, you guys. Stylish, but so afraid.